I'm not
by htmllost
Summary: Phil gets a boyfriend and moves out. Dan's a mess. TW: suicide and alcohol. Maybe sequel. Written in second person.
You remember when it went downhill.

Phil had been so excited; oh, so excited. He had rushed into your room, a wide smile had painted his face and his eyes had the glint of childhood mischief.

"Dan, he said yes!" Phil had yelped. Your face had fallen.

You support him because you love him. His happiness means the world to you, so you don't protest. You hug him and tell him you're happy for him.

You're not.

You're jealous and bitter.

" _What does he have that I don't? Am I not enough?"_ You want to shout.

You don't.

You try to convince yourself that Phil would get over himself and come right back to you. After all, he always does.

He doesn't.

Hell, you don't even know the guy's name. The mystery man Phil's head over heels for. You decide that you don't care. The more you know about him, the less likely will it be for you to hate him.

Phil's the happiest you've seen him. He stays out late, comes home drunk with love and smiles like the world had been handed to him.

You feel terrible. You start spending all your time in your room. It's all a blur, really. You don't even know what you do.

You've stopped making videos. Phil tries to help. He pushes you to do something, anything. But you just can't. It had been years since you'd faked being happy, so you've forgotten how to now.

But you're a quick learner.

The videos are back again and everyone is convinced that it was merely another existential crisis.

It wasn't.

Every video exhausts you, every breath kills you.

But you decide to push on for Phil. He may be in a relationship but you knew that he loved you the most. His best friend.

Right?

Wrong.

He moves out.

You say you understand, you say it's for the best.

It's isn't.

You help him move out. Box all his DVDs and clothes. But honestly, you can't tell if they really are his. Maybe just yours.

His new flat is way better than your old one. It has the big windows you knew Phil liked. You say nothing.

You try to give him the best farewell you possibly could. You go out for drinks but you make sure not to get drunk.

Yet.

Phil ensures you that the gaming channel would still be on and the collabs would still happen. You agree but don't feel so sure.

You return home.

The apartment is an insult. To you, your feeling and your relationship with Phil. It's bare and forlorn. It's so _empty_.

You scream and scream, and knock over your dinning table. You feel like smashing those multicoloured dinning chairs. So you do. It reminds you of how unnecessarily excited Phil had been when you had gotten them.

You turn the house upside down.

You're exhausted so you decide to drink your weight in alcohol. You don't even know what kind.

At some point, you pass out. When you wake up, the sun stings your eyes and the stench of vomit is heavy in the room.

Phil calls you and you try your best to sound okay. He's not convinced, neither are you.

He asks you to come over but you decline and tell him that you had actually planned to go to your parents' home.

That was a lie.

You only go out to buy alcohol now.

You spend the week like that. You drink when you're awake and vomit when you're asleep. You know that you haven't eaten in what seemed like years but you don't care.

The house is a mess. The furniture is overturned, and the flat reeks of stomach acid and cheap alcohol.

You decide to follow your own advice for once.

 _Do whatever you can to be happy._

You shower for the first time in weeks, put on your best clothes and straighten your hair. You smile nostalgically when the memory of Phil teasing your hobbit hair flickers in your mind.

You walk into Phil's untouched room. The old bed is bare and the room is mostly empty. It no longer looks like Phil's.

You sit down and try not to cry. You decide it's too much and you just couldn't take it anymore. You type out you're final message for Phil.

You tell him you love him and that you've always loved him. You tell that he's the best thing that ever happened to you. You say that you're grateful for all the memories that he'd given you. You tease him about his forgotten ginger hair.

You also tell him that none of this was his fault. That you chose this. That this was the best for the both of you. That you wouldn't keep Phil from being happy and wouldn't have to feel so shit all the time.

You tell him that you smile whenever you think of him. You say that you're sorry for 2012. You tell him that his eyes are the prettiest eyes you'd ever seen.

You remind him once more that none of this was his fault and that you love him. You send the message and leave the room.

Your own room is messy but you don't care. You bring out a gun and the most expensive wine bottle you own, and sit down on the piano.

You take a swig of the bittersweet wine.

You're fingers start dancing on the keys of the piano.

You remember how you attempted to teach Phil how to play the piano. A ghostly smile stretches your chapped lips.

You regret that you never told Phil that you loved him. Regret 2012. You regret not becoming an actor. You regret not being honest with your followers.

But you're happy that you became a YouTuber. You're happy that you met Phil.

You wonder if it could have been any different if you'd just told Phil in 2012. If you just told him that you missed how you loved each other in 2009. All those years ago.

You swallow a mouthful of wine and realise that the wetness on your cheeks is of tears.

More wine swims down your throat. Concentrating on the song becomes more difficult.

First a small pain begins in your stomach. Then, it spreads throughout your body. You realise that the song has turned into desperate banging of keys.

You stop playing and curl your fingers around the gun's grip.

You're staring down at the loaded gun. You're sobbing and heaving; just keep on crying. Is this really what you deserve?

You decide enough is enough.

You press the cool gun against your temple and your finger shivers on the trigger.

You hear the front door unlock and frantically, you press the trigger.

A loud bang echoes through your skull. Someone shouts your name.

You fall down on the piano and the deep red of blood stains its white keys.

You wish that you'd written Phil's name on the bullet. That way he'd know that he was the last thing that went through your head.


End file.
